An ode to inspirational teachers

I received the very sad news yesterday of the passing of one of my most beloved and respected teachers in high school. Christopher Trussell was all things "fine arts" at The Webb Schools, and I had the unparalleled honor of learning from him during my sophomore year at Webb.

I first met Mr. Trussell prior to starting at Webb, though. My mom and I returned home from my school day at Corona Junior High to the small condo we had in Claremont one spring afternoon in 1984. My sister, Julie, informed me that the choir director was seeking additional students to be a member of the Chamber Singers for the coming school year. I had already been admitted to Webb, and Julie, who was by then finishing up her sophomore year, had already signed up to be in Chamber Singers in the fall. "Do you want to go up to campus and audition?"

"When?" I asked.

"Right now!"

Before I knew what was happening, Mom and Julie were shuffling me into the Ford Station Wagon, and off we went to 1175 Baseline Road, the official address of my future home away from home.

Julie escorted me to the music room which, back then, was perched on top of the building that was affectionately referred to as the "Old Gym." I climbed the stairs to face my first close up with the legendary Mr. Trussell. I had no idea what was in store for me.

Julie made the introductions, and I shook hands with the very gracious, very British, Chris Trussell. He welcomed me warmly, sat at the piano and asked me to sing a few notes. He tested my vocal range, and asked how high I could go.

"Well, I think I can go to a high C," I replied.

He chuckled politely, and said, "well, let's see." When I attempted to hit a high "C" (which I did; remember that my vocal chords were much younger back then), his eyes widened a little and he said, "you're right! You are a soprano!" At that moment, he welcomed me into the Chamber Singers fold. And I hadn't even officially matriculated yet. I was stunned and honored.

Throughout the 1984-85 school year, I got to know Mr. Trussell very well. Chamber Singers was always the first class of the day, and my new friends and I delighted in gathering in the old Music Room at the start of each day. On colder days (before the onset of global warming, I assume), we'd huddle together around the furnace to keep warm. He even asked me to be part of Webb's barbershop quartet which, traditionally, was only for boys. You bet I welcomed the opportunity to sing with three male baritones and tenors.

Being adolescents, and with a 50/50 split of boys and girls, the sexual tension in the Music Room was palpable. Mr. Trussell, I am sure, was well aware of the teenage hormones he had to deal with every day, and for the most part he took it all in stride.

And yet, of course, there were days when he did not. It was not uncommon for his British temper to get the best of him. He frequently let loose on those of us who were goofing off; sometimes, his rants included throwing things. But, you know what? We sort of understood this. He was an artist, through and through, and extremely passionate about his work, his students, and the excellence he saw in and demanded of all of us.

He was the director of the very first stage production I was in. Webb's 1985 musical was The Sound of Music and I got to play one of the Von Trapp children. It was a magical time.

Then, that spring, he directed a production of Arsenic and Old Lace. It was roaring good fun. My best friend, Kathy, and I were cast as the senile, crazy, lovable, and murderous aunts, Martha and Abbey. Julie, my sister, played the girlfriend of the embattled Mortimer, the nephew of the crazy old ladies; he, in turn, was played by my old friend, David. Another dear friend and Webb refugee, Jason, was brilliant as Teddy, Mortimer's brother who is as crazy as his aunts and thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt. Our rehearsals saw good times and bad; Mr. Trussell was easily stressed, and we all knew that he dealt with issues of high blood pressure. None of us were prepared, though, for his unexpected and sudden trip to the hospital one evening, about three weeks before the show opened, with what was feared to be a stroke. We, the cast, were sure we'd done something to provoke this. We felt awful.

But, Mr. Trussell bounced back, and the show went on. We didn't have much of an audience at any of the three performances, but we had a hell of a good time.

Mr. Trussell was also known and loved for his quick wit and droll sense of humor. He randomly made up a poem of me one afternoon, just to get my goat:

"Janel, Janel,
You know damn well,
You really ought to go to ..."

You had to be there at the time, but it was immensely funny. For him, teasing and poking fun was never personal or intended to hurt. Instead, it was one of his many ways of showing how much he cared for and respected you as an individual. He must of thought rather highly of me, given that he also pointed out one day that "Janel" rhymes with "gazelle."

When he chose to leave Webb at the end of my first academic year, his theater and music devotees were heartbroken. We were assured that it would only be for a one-year sabbatical, well earned in order to get his health (and blood pressure) squared away. Alas, he left Webb for good in order to pursue his other life-long passion of joining the priesthood.

The class and dignity with which he created and maintained the performing arts at The Webb Schools departed with him. Music and dance instructors came to campus who were quite young, immature, and all too eager to be seen as one of the "cool teachers." By the time my senior year rolled around, I mourned for the civility at Webb that was so present during Mr. Trussell's time on campus. But it was his class, his professionalism, and his genuine love of students that prompted me to track him down during the fall of my senior year to request that he write my letter of recommendation for admission to UCLA's School of Theater, Film and Television. Ever gracious, ever kind, he happily agreed. I was admitted, and I owe it all to him.

While ultimately I didn't end up attending UCLA as an undergraduate (which is good, because if I had, I would never have met Glen!), this accolade meant the world to me, reassuring me not only of the talents I discovered under Mr. Trussell's guidance, but also that real teachers, true teachers, put their students' cares and concerns before their own, and make a lasting impact.

I love you, Mr. Trussell.